The Dragonslayers
by busyizzy
Summary: UPDATED. 'member that crazy dude called Dilandau? Yea, the dude who liked fire .. well, meet the Dragonslayers - who they are and how they came together.
1. Disclaimer, Author Note, and Updates

Disclaimer:

I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic written by a fan for fans. So enjoy reading it! Do not steal or plagiarize my story. This is my work and it may suck, but it's still my work. If you need to do anything with my story other than read it, please email me at busyizzy801@yahoo.com and ask for permission. Thank you.

This a place where I get to rant and talk about what ever I want. *evil smirk* yes, be scared everyone cause I actually am giving myself a talk to rant about stuff no one wants to listen to. ^_~ too bad. Or, you could just skip this part and go on to my story *points left* straight down that isle, turn left and go straight until your first right. That's /Chapter 1/. Choices, choices – listen to me rant and occasionally stick in updates or actually read what you came here to read? :

Author's note/Updates:

[February 22, 2004]

Jesus christ, it's almost exactly an year since the last chapter!? Holy shit. I'm sorry for being lazy and … well, being my usual self in procrastinating my ass off on this. New email address. Not busyizzy86@hotmail.com. So don't stalk me on that anymore. Hmmm, what else to discuss? I'm really sorry for the delay. I actually wrote this 2 years ago, but I never bothered putting it up, cuz I hoped to get in more edits and ideas and fix it up a bit before putting it up. Errrr, right, that kindof failed, didn't it? Well, I didn't even read this through. At all. Not even the first sentence. Cuz if I did, I'd be tempted to work on it again, and it'd never be finished. EVER. 

I did have a New Years resolution to start writing again, and so, here it is. I will. It might be strange as my writing style might have changed over the span of 1-2 years. But that's a good thing, right? It also not be very flowy or anything or even coherent. X_x;; Umm, right. Anyway. Here, chapter 3. And apparently, I already put up chapter 3. But it's not up there. All the better, as chapter 4, which is about Miguel, is not even near done. At all. Cuz I need to start writing it. ^^;; 

[February 21, 2003]

^^;; ahahaha, long time no see, ne? Just a couple of things. I got a new email address so those stalkers of mine should update their address book. ^^ Um, I'm still alive, even after nearly 6 months without updates. Busy, lazy, just couldn't be bothered are all excuses I will use. ^^ Speaking of which, anyone else got caught in that nasty snow storm? I did. ^^ One whole week without school. w00t, baby, w00t! :D And so, I decided to take some time to write some. Umm … I wrote that I already put up /Chapter 3/ last time I updated but apparently I lied. Or rather, my computer lied. Damn, I should have checked. Ah well, here's /chapter 3/ and I'm working on chapter 4. To make updates less sporadic, my brother's gonna push me to write more. ^^;; let's hope that works out well. 

Anyhoo, /Chapter 3/ is about Viole. Now, knowing even less about Viole than we fans know about Chesta and Gatti, I kindof made everything up. Well, I made up everything for everyone else too. . Ah well … look out for Miguel in /chapter 4/, hopefully up within the next couple weeks although I won't promise anything. After Miguel, I'll do Dalet and Guimel (ohhh .. sheep boy, I think I'll have fun with this one ^^) and maybe Dilandau although that's doubtful. I really don't wanna try to put myself in the mindset of a pyromaniac psycho like Dilandau (brother: even though you already are one, me: *smack* shush yu, that's a secret between you and me). It's hard enough to juggle around the personalities, families, and characters of just 7 people. I definitely won't try to do all 15. ^^;; Just 7, and maybe +Dilandau. Maybe. Depends on what people say so review damn it. Or if not review, email me. Make me feel loved (or, make my stories feel loved) so I'll be motivated to write some more. ^^

Anyway, that was just a summary of my plans. After introducing the final character, I think I'll go back to Chesta and just circle around until they all come together. I haven't planned out what I'll do then. Maybe just end this as I've been dragging this on way too long already. Suggestions?

Whew, this was actually an update on my story and not me bitching about physics and other personal problems. Yay for me. That's a rarity in itself. Now scuse me while you go read /chapter 3/ and I go write /chapter 4/. Enjoy. ^_~

[November 15, 2002]

Jesus! It's been a while since I updated, ne/ Don't worry, I'm still alive here! Barely hanging in there though. ;_; School sux so much, you know that? I did pretty good first quarter but I gotta hang in there. Physics is a killer … ;_;

Okay, enough bitching about my pathetic life. You guys don't care, all you want is the story, ne? I finished /Chapter 3/ (no, it didn't take me 3 months but I've been busy and too lazy to get it up here). Anyway, I present you .. Chapter 3! I'm gonna try to work a little on my story every week, probably Sunday, but no promises. Anyway, read on. 

[August 18, 2002]

My how time flies. I said I'll get /Chapter 2/ up the last time I updated but … I guess I lied. But I finally got off my lazy butt and did it. ^_^ *yawn* I woke up at 11 this morning and immediately started on this, knowing I would never get to this if I didn't start now. Right now, it's nearing 1:00 PM. I make no promises but I will try to get /Chapter 3/ up this week. It will be hard, though, with school starting on the 28th and me not even close to finishing my summer hw. I know, what kind of fucked up school gives out summer hw? And a hell lot of it too … *sigh* well, I'll stop ranting on about this. I'm going to go do my homework … or probably not. But, I just like saying that cuz it makes me feel like I actually did some of it and am not just procrastinating. ^_^.

By the way!!!! Enjoy /Chapter 2/ and tell me all about it! If you like, if you don't – do you like /Chapter 1/ or /Chapter 2/ better and so on and so forth. Arigatou!

[August 14, 2002]

I was really really busy today. Went to my mom's office to help her out with some files cuz we just went to Korean last week and she got a shytload of work piled up during the time we went to Korea. Was planning to put up /Chapter 2/ but didn't have enough time to finish it today cuz of driving school. _ ick, driving school sucks so bad. It's sooo sooo sooo boring!!!! Well, I'm going to go work on /Chapter 2/ and try to finish it by today. Can't promise anything cuz I got a lot of summer hw I haven't finished that I _should_ be working on.

[August 13, 2002]

**Updated a second time** stupid stupid stupid!! I changed it and uploaded /Chapter One/ about a million times, but NO. the stupid paragraph thing will not get fixed. Hopefully, this is the last time …. *menacing glare at computer* … grrr ….

Whoops, I found out that my formatting didn't work out too well on /Chapter 1/ - thanx to /Dark-Queen/ for pointing that out to me. But, hopefully, it's all fixed now *crosses fingers* and you will have paragraphs. Sorry to those who had to read it without paragraphs *shivers* quite an awful way to read a story – so, it's fixed now, so go and read it! Chapter 2 should be up later today or tomorrow … depending on how time works out … it'll probably be tomorrow.

[August 11, 2002]

Put up /Chapter 1/ –completely edited from last time (when up at Pockyqueen's). took me 2 hrs to edit it, yikes ….

I know, this story was by pockyqueen. That's my old name. If you don't believe me, go check. I took down this story there and posted a little note that says check back here! So = P to you!

I love the Dragonslayers – they're my favorite characters in Escaflowne! If you haven't seen the show, you should. It's really really good. ^_^ And you wouldn't get parts of my story without some background knowledge on the show. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy my story! I worked really hard on it! If there are any mistakes (grammar or story-wise), please email me and tell me what's wrong. Please read and review. I have to get motivated to write cause I'm lazy and if lots of people shower me with praises, I really get motivated. ^_~ jk, actually, lots of criticism is welcome, only if its constructive criticism though. I really want to improve my writing and it can't be done without criticism. So, any comments, good or bad, welcome! (wow, aren't I just asking for trouble?)

What else to talk about? Yeah, any story ideas are also welcome. I'm trying to as creative as possible with this story – the problem being I'm not very creative. I'm trying though! Give me credit for that, please.

And I edited all three chapters of what I had. I had 16 hrs on the plane to Korea so that's what I did. Editing 3 chapters took me a helluva long time though … even with my 16 hrs to do nothing! I only made the actual changes on the computer to chapter one, which is what I'm putting up. _ that takes a long time too.

Hmmmmmmmm ………. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. It means a lot to me. It's my first fanfic ever! Yes, I know it's kindof long (by the way, tell me if it drags …) but for those that sat there, reading word for word my story, a prize for you! (well, not exactly … but …a pat on the head! *pats heads of those readers* yay for you!) Anyway, I'm going to go edit the rest of my chapters. G'day to y'all.


	2. Chapter 1 Chesta

Disclaimer:

I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic written by a fan for fans. So enjoy reading it! HOWEVER, do not steal or plagiarize my story. This is my work and it may suck, but it's still my work. If you need to do anything with my story other than read it, please email me at busyizzy86@hotmail.com and ask for permission. Thank you.****

The Dragonslayers By: sHiNiGaMi801

Chapter One - Chesta

"Chesta! Chesta? Are you awake yet?" the shrill woman's voice cut through the quiet morning. Rolling over on his bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning, Chesta answered the woman with a tired groan. After a feeble attempt getting up, Chesta surrendered to the wonder that is sleep and collapsed into his bed again. "Wake up, Chesta! I have an errand for you," the woman yelled again. 

Groaning, Chesta finally sat upright with both of his eyes closed. After another tired sigh, he opened his eyes, blinking as the sunlight glared into them. He looked around at the small, old beds that were stuffed into the small room. In each bed was a boy, all sleeping soundly, oblivious to the screeching of the woman.

"Chesta!!" the shrill voice cried, even louder than before. This time, a small boy lying down in the bed next to Chesta stirred slightly. The boy fidgeted, peeking up at Chesta with one eye. 

"Was' da matter?" asked the boy groggily. 

Chesta smiled at the boy. "It's nothing," he said. "Go back to sleep. You're tired."

The boy nodded as he yawned loudly. Chesta smiled as he gently patted the boy on the head. "Go to sleep," Chesta repeated. Grabbing his blanket, the boy snuggled into the covers of the bed, sighing softly, nodding off to sleep again.

Chesta jumped off his own bed. He looked around the room affectionately, even though the paint on the walls was peeling, broken nails had scratched up the floor, and dust and cobwebs had dominated most of the room. All around him was what he considered to be his family. This rundown orphanage - it was the only life he had known. He couldn't remember most of his childhood or his parents. All he had left of his past childhood was a picture of his parents.

_'The picture,' _Chesta thought. He dropped onto his knees and looked for his bag under his bed.

Chesta dusted off the dust that settled onto his bag overnight and pulled out an exquisite picture frame from the bag. '_They sure look like nice people … wish I got to know them …'_ Chesta sighed as he looked longingly down towards the picture. There was a beautiful woman and a handsome man posing in the picture. The woman was sitting down with her legs crossed and her hands laid delicately in her lap. She wore a beautiful flowery dress and her brown hair was wrapped in a loose bun. Her light blue eyes twinkled with laughter, and her smile was gentle and serene. The colors of roses glowed from her cheeks. The man's brown eyes looked stern but he looked lovingly down at the woman, his hands resting gently on the woman's shoulder. He had slightly tossed his head back, trying to brush his long blonde hair out of his eyes. '_Mom … Dad …' _As Chesta stared at the picture, he saw his reflection on the glass of the picture frame from the sunlight that shined through a hole on the ceiling. He had his mother's eyes - everyone always commented on how charming his big blue eyes were - and his father's blonde hair - which …

"Chesta!" the woman's voice cut through Chesta's thoughts. Sighing, Chesta carefully placed the picture frame back into his bag and carefully tossed it under his bed. "Chesta!!!" Holding his hands against his ears to block out the jarring voice of the woman, Chesta noticed that a morning chill had settled in the room. Worried about the boy sleeping in the next bed, he grabbed his own blanket from his bed and gently covered the boy with it. Then, he threw on his cloak and walked out of the room.

Strolling absentmindedly through the hallway, Chesta thought about a dream he had that night. He was dressed in a special blue uniform along with fourteen other boys. It was some sort of … military group, Chesta decided. They trained hard everyday in their Guymelefs, and their captain - their captain was the greatest of all. He had a bright red Guymelef and …

"Chesta! I've been calling for hours! Where were you?" demanded the shrill voice. Chesta looked up, startled at the interruption. The voice belonged to a tall woman, the owner and caretaker of the orphanage. Her long gray hair was in a tight bun. The shawl that was wrapped tightly around her shoulders was the same worn gray as her hair. She pointed her long gnarly fingers accusingly at Chesta. "I was worried about you. Are you sick?" she asked. 

Chesta smiled and said, "No, don't worry. What did you want me to do?" As the oldest boy of the orphanage, fifteen moons old; Chesta did special errands for the orphanage and the woman. Chesta was usually happy to comply with the errands because he felt as if the orphanage was his responsibility, being the oldest boy in the orphanage. 

"I need you to go into the city and deliver this message. It's very important - especially to the orphanage. Got that?" the woman told Chesta. The woman handed Chesta a white envelope. She grasped Chesta's hands as she told Chesta, "I'm trusting you." Chesta nodded earnestly. "And," the woman added with a smile, "don't get into trouble!"

Chesta smiled. "Who, me?" he asked innocently. "I would never!" Running out of the orphanage, Chesta looked back. "It's very important to the orphanage," the woman's voice echoed. Chesta looked curiously down at the envelope he clutched in his hands. '_Hmmmm … Wonder what the message is?'_ Chesta sighed. '_Well, it's none of my business.'_ And with that thought, he started walking down the road towards the city. 

*   *   *

 "Thanks – Chesta, is it?" A man asked as he eyed Chesta's ragged clothes. "Um … Won't you sit down?" the man asked, gesturing to the interior of his house.

Chesta shook his head. He stood on the porch of the large, fancy house as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead; the sun was beating down on the back of his neck. "Thank you, sir, but no. I have to go," Chesta replied politely. Chesta looked down at his feet; he shuffled his feet, glancing longingly towards the general direction of the orphanage. 

"Well … Chesta, how old are you?" the man asked curiously. 

Chesta looked at the man in surprise. "I'm – I'm fourteen, sir," Chesta mumbled. The man looked thoughtfully at Chesta. Chesta squirmed under his glance. "If it's alright, sir, I think I'll go now, Chesta said as he bowed and started to turn around.

"Umm, yes, you better go now," the man repeated softly. "But wait!" the man called as he grabbed Chesta's shoulder. "Have a silver coin for your hard work." The man held out a small silver coin. 

Chesta shook his head. "It was my pleasure, sir. No need to pay me," Chesta said.

"Well," the man looked hesitatingly down at Chesta. The man was considerably taller than Chesta, but then again, perhaps Chesta was just considerably shorter than the man. Everything about the man seemed out of proportion. He was too tall and too thin. His long nose curved towards his lip. His hair was cut short as if attempting to tame the wild and ragged white strands of hair sticking out. One of his eyes seemed to be bigger than the other one, and his mouth puckered out. "There has to be some way I can thank you for delivering that package. Are you sure you don't want anything, Chesta?" the man asked.

Chesta, again, shook his head. "Excuse me, sir, but I had better get going. It's a long walk back to the orphanage, and I want to get back before dark."

"Wise boy," the man said, nodding his head approvingly. "But - uh – Chesta, have you ever looked for a career in …" Chesta leaned in closer. "Never mind, boy," the man said with a wave of his hand. Disappointed, Chesta turned to leave once again when the man suddenly said, "Chesta, can your parents come …"

"My parents are dead," Chesta cut in with a lifeless voice.

"Oh, I see," the man paused, not knowing what to say. He then abruptly asked, "What do you want, Chesta, out of life?"

Chesta stared at him. "Sir?" Chesta asked hesitatingly. 

The man waited patiently for Chesta's answer. "What do you want, Chesta?" the man repeated.

"Uhhh – well, nothing, sir," Chesta replied, looking away from the man. 

The man laughed. "Come now, you've got to have something that you want. Everybody has something they want …" he paused, continuing in a bitter voice, "Do you want your parents back or do you wish to be rich – do you want a successful career … what is it that you want?" the man asked once more.

Chesta looked at the man, dazed. '_What … what I want? What do I want?' _Suddenly engulfed by his past fantasies and dreams, Chesta's head seemed to spin. '_A family? My parents? To know my parents … or to get my parents to know me? What do I want?' _A drop of sweat rolled down Chesta's forehead.__

"Chesta?" the man asked, somewhat irritated at Chesta's lack of response and interest.

Chesta, out of his trance, jumped slightly. "Y-yes??"he asked.

"Are you feeling okay?" the man asked.

"Um – yes! I am – I'm okay!" Chesta paused. "Yes … I am okay," he repeated in a steady voice. Chesta quickly stepped out of the house. "Thank you for everything, sir," Chesta said as he bit his lip. 

The man sighed as he asked, "Are you sure you don't want anything? Perhaps a silver coin is too small of a payment? How about a gold one?

Chesta looked down at his feet. "Thank you but no thank you," he said once again. He sighed and wondered if this conversation was just going in circles. Couldn't the man just bluntly say what he wanted? Did they have to play this guessing game?

The man smiled down at the top of Chesta's head. "You have a heart of gold," the man told Chesta. "You'd do well in the military … with some training, of course," the man added.

Chesta felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. After what felt like forever, Chesta finally started towards the orphanage. It was well into the afternoon. '_I better hurry up before it gets too dark or I'll have to …' _Chesta looked around at the busy town. Men were hurrying to get home to spend the rest of their night with their families. Slave boys were running errands, lazily loitering in the sun – in no rush to go back home to their masters. A little farther up north was the market where the women were haggling for various things, including food for dinner. The infant children ran around, splashing mud without a care in the world. When their mothers called, the children ran off, leaving Chesta staring longingly after them. Chesta sighed. He started walking towards the orphanage again – his home. 

*   *   *__

_"_Whatdo you want?" the man's voice echoed in Chesta's head.Chesta bit his lip. '_What do I want? A home, a family – or maybe_ …' Chesta thought '… _maybe something completely different?' _He recalled the many dreams he had when he would fantasize that his parents weren't really dead, and they would come and take Chesta away and … _we'd live happily ever after. _Chesta scoffed. "Yeah, like that's going to happen," he said to himself. He sighed. Then, he remembered his dream last night. '_A Guymelef?'_ Chesta stopped walking. He had wandered onto the road, lost in his thoughts. '_A Guymelef pilot,' _mused Chesta. '_That's what …'_

"Watch it, boy!" A man shouted at Chesta from inside a wagon. Chesta leaped out of the way. _I'd better hurry up, or I'll have to walk through the woods in the dark_. Nobody with any sense would walk through the woods at night. 

*   *   *

Long after night had settled, Chesta had finally reached the edge of the woods, Chesta realized that he had traveled in safety's hands up till that point. 'What danger would the woods at night present?' Chesta asked himself. It was rumored that wild animals and thieves who lived in the woods, attacking travelers during the night. Chesta took a nervous deep breath and took a small step towards the woods when he heard a wolf's howl. Chesta stopped and shivered - whether it was from the cool wind of the chilly night or fear, he could not tell. Taking another deep breath, he took another step towards the woods when he unexpectedly got a strange feeling that someone was watching him. Chesta could imagine their cold eyes staring intensely at him. 'It's only my imagination,' Chesta told himself. 'Get a grip.' He shook his head, hoping he would shake off his fear. 

Finally, gathering his courage, Chesta took a giant bold step into the woods. Sighing, he continued into the woods with small rapid steps down the path of the woods, trying to block out all sounds such as the occasional rustle in the bushes. After a while, his fear of thieves and wild animals diminished, and Chesta was confidently walking through the woods. But there was still that feeling – that feeling that there were eyes staring intensively at him, focused on him, catching his every movement. Still, there was no turning back now, and he had to get to the orphanage before the night ended. Chesta was sure that everyone at the orphanage was worried. After all, he had promised to be back by afternoon that day, and it was already night. Lost in his thoughts, he wandered down the path almost aimlessly, when a cold hand tightly grasped his shoulder. 

"Ahhhh!" Chesta cried out in surprise. He spun around, only to face a short pudgy man. "What … what do you want?" Chesta demanded. Chesta gulped, hoping he sounded tough, knowing he was just a scared little boy inside. The man only leered at Chesta. Chesta bit his lip nervously, asking himself, '_Could this person be the one who was watching me?' _The man only continued to stare at Chesta with a hungry smirk. Chesta carefully studied the man. '_No, these eyes weren't the ones – they can't be. Those eyes were dark and cold. This man - he's a joke compared to those eyes,' _Chesta told himself.

The man continued to stare at Chesta. "Where ya from, boy?" the man asked. 

"An … an orphanage in the country." Chesta relied hastily.

The man pouted. "An _orphanage?" the man repeated, frowning. His eyebrows burrowed into his face, as if deep in thought. Then, as if he had thought of a brilliant idea, he clasped his two pudgy hands and smiled his crooked smile again. Most of his teeth were black and dull. "Ha … yeah, right. That's what they all say," the man said. "Now, what do I have to do to make ya tell me the truth?" The man paused, "That's okay. I don't give a damn where ya came from, actually." The man looked threatening at Chesta as he demanded menacingly, "What do I hafta do to make ya give me all yur money?"_

Chesta looked down at the ground. Leaves and pebbles scattered the dirt path. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"What'd ya find?" a voice behind Chesta asked. Happy and quite amazed at the sound of another voice, Chesta turned around and stared at the owner of the new voice. The voice belonged to a tall man whose most visible facet was a large scar down his cheek. His eyes were cold but they were still not the eyes that had been stalking him. The tall man's face was long and bony, like his body. The man looked down at Chesta. "Well, well! A little rascal. Good job," the second man complimented the first one.

Chesta choked, "Who? Me?"

"Who else is there?" the man asked sarcastically.

Chesta looked nervously around him - hoping to see anyone … anything else but the two thieves. He was so nervous; he couldn't think straight. His head was spinning when his eyes caught sight of a sword that hung from the tall man's hip. Biting his lip, he tried to devise a plan but everything seemed to swirl around him. Adding to the tension was the fact that Chesta _still thought that a third pair of eyes, including the two thieves', was still watching him. _

"Awww … come on. Just take his money and let's go. Why do we need to kill him?" the fat thief whined.

The tall one rolled his eyes. "Let's just take his money and go …" he mocked, imitating the fat thief. "What the hell is the matter with you? We can't just leave him."

"Wh - why not?" asked the fat man, confused and bewildered by this suggestion.

The tall one sighed, "First of all, this little rogue could go off and tell people 'bout us. That ain't gonna do us any good, now is it? Nobody gonna wanna travel here night and if they do, they'll all be traveling in those big crowds."

The short one sighed and shook his head in confusion. "Damn, you thick-headed lump of …" the tall man started to yell.

"But …" the short man whined and the two thieves continued to argue. Meanwhile, Chesta was oblivious to the argument. His eyes were focused on the sword. He slowly reached out towards the sword, his hand shaking slightly with fear. Chesta kept silent. '_They mustn't notice him,_'he told himself. His hand slowly ascended towards the sword. 

Suddenly, the tall thief grabbed the hilt of his sword, and Chesta quickly pulled his hand back. The tall thief started yelling, "Ya wanna fight? Is that it? Wanna fight? Damn ya, I'll take ya on any day! You fat lousy piece of …"

The short thief grunted, "No."

The tall thief took his hand off of the hilt and said, "Don't mess with me, I ain't even need a sword to beat ya. All I need is …" the tall thief paused as he looked around. He bent over and picked up a long thin branch. "All I need is this, here, branch," the tall thief started to say, "so I can stick it up your …"

Chesta moved behind the tall man. The two thieves did not notice him. He again started to inch his hand towards the sword. '_Almost_,' he thought. '_A little bit more, and …_' When his hand pulled the sword out from its sheath and away from the tall thief, Chesta shouted, "I got it!" Chesta drew in a quick breath as he poised the sword towards the two thieves.

"Don't move." Chesta stammered. "I've got a sword ..." Chesta stumbled as he backed away from the thieves, facing the two thieves with the sword held out in front of him. Chesta bit his lip as he nervously thought, '_And I don't know how to use it._'

The tall thief scoffed at Chesta. The short thief, however, was shaking even harder. He was on the ground, kneeling and begging Chesta, "Please don't kill me. Don't kill me. I never meant to do ya any harm. I only wanted to rob ya." The fat thief pointed a shaky finger at the tall one. "It was him who wanted to kill ya! I never wanted to do that!" He babbled on but Chesta paid no attention to him. It was the tall one he was worried about.

The tall thief was standing, laughing confidently. "Tricky lil' fellow, aren't ya? Nice try, but that won't get ya anywhere," he said. The tall thief held out his hand. Chesta could see scars on the man's bony hand in the dim moonlight. "Give it back to me," the man demanded. 

Chesta, tightening his hold on the sword with both hands, shook his head. The tall thief threw Chesta a disgusted look. "Give it to me," he ordered Chesta in a stern voice.

Chesta, again, shook his head. "No, I won't." Chesta's hands were pale from gripping the sword so tightly. _'What am I doing? Even with the sword, I'll probably lose. Am I being suicidal, or something?'_ Chesta asked himself, unsure of what to do next or what will happen next.

The tall thief spit out the tobacco he was chewing. "Ya want trouble? I'll give it to ya," the thief yelled as he started to walk menacingly towards Chesta. 

Chesta held his ground, still holding the sword in front of him. "I'm warning you, don't come any closer," Chesta threatened, his voice growing confidant.

"Ya? Warning me? Ha, that's a laugh," the man snorted as he continued to walk towards Chesta.

Chesta looked at the tall thief straight in the eye. "Okay, I warned you," he whispered softly. With a deep breathe, Chesta suddenly started running towards the thief, yelling wildly. 

The thief looked surprisingly at Chesta. "What the …" the thief started to say as tried to back up, but it was too late. Chesta slammed the sword blindly towards the thief. The thief screamed in agony as the sword cut into his arm. Chesta closed his eyes as blood splattered his face and his clothes. The thief dropped to the ground, cradling his injured arm, gasping for air. "Fu-fuck …. A little kid … what the hell … did he … do?" the tall thief panted. The pudgy thief ran away, screaming in hysteria. Chesta looked away, wiping the blood from his face. A tear rolled down his face as he listened to the pain-racked screaming.

Chesta picked up the bag he had dropped, and started walking away. He tried to be indifferent to the man screaming but his stomach churned and his hands trembled - not from fear or the cold but … '_from what?'_ Chesta asked himself. He did not look back at the tall thief who was still whimpering over his wound. Instead, Chesta looked down at his clothes. They were splattered with blood. Chesta felt another tear roll down his face. Looking up at the sky, he noticed it wasn't a tear. It was a drop of rain ... the world was weeping. And for some reason, he felt like crying too. Chesta stood alone in the rain as it started to fall harder and harder. It was silent except for the rain splattering against the dirt road of the forest. Chesta held up his hands towards the sky as he felt the rain wash out the blood. He just stood there quietly, listening to the rain.

The rain suddenly ceased. The forest was still silent; not even the occasional rustle in the bushes or the squeak of an animal could be heard. The forest was silent … except for the sound of water dripping down from the leaves of the trees. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. 

Chesta blinked. He was soaked but he felt refreshed by the rain. Looking down, Chesta noticed that the rain had washed away the bloodstains on his clothes. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. 

Chesta took a deep breath. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

He took one step, then another step. He started taking slow and steady steps towards the orphanage again - towards home where he would be safe. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

*   *   *

From the forest, a silver-haired man stepped out. His cold, red eyes narrowed as he watched Chesta, his intense stare following every one of Chesta's movements. He crossed his arms, satisfied with what he had seen. "You have lots of potential, lots of it," the man said curtly, to no one in particular. Nodding his head, he turned to leave. Hidden at the edge of the forest was a bright red Guymelef. The man climbed into the Guymelef and left.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	3. Chapter 2 Gatti

Disclaimer:

I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic written by a fan for fans. So enjoy reading it! HOWEVER, do not steal or plagiarize my story. This is my work and it may suck, but it's still my work. If you need to do anything with my story other than read it, please email me at busyizzy86@hotmail.com and ask for permission. Thank you.****

Chapter Two - Gatti

A beautiful, lavish dining table was set in the middle of a large room. Huge, delicate crystal chandeliers were hanging on the ceilings. The glittering crystals shimmered as the light bounced off it and reflected off the many polished medals, trophies and awards of honor and bravery hanging on the wall. Candles lit on the walls gave the room a soft, cheery glow – a feeling that was otherwise non-existent in the room. A huge painting of a strict-looking military officer ­­­­was hung on one side of the room, across from the many awards that hung on the opposite wall. This parade of trophies continued onto the third wall. The last wall was bare of decorations and instead hosted a huge, antique door that was carved into the wall. Next to this exquisite door was a smaller door; it was barely noticeable, made out of rough and dull wood. The servants use this door to go to the kitchens. Next to this small door was a gigantic grandfather clock. It was a very old antique, yet it was still beautiful. The servants polished it everyday, a chore that the servants dreaded because it was so hard to polish because of the various mystical figures delicately carved onto the clock. 

The clock chimed six. The servants hustled about nervously. It was dinnertime for their master and his family. As the sixth chime faded away, a man and a woman entered the dining room. The woman was wearing a long, fashionable silver dress; it lightly grazed the ground as she gracefully walked into the room. She was covered from head to toe with precious jewels; a large diamond pin adorned her hair, and her shoes had a large ruby fastened to each of them. Her face was as pretty as the jewels that adorned her - though she held an air of warmth and kindness, unlike the jewels, which seemed cold and indifferent. Her cheeks were rosy, and her skin was fair and smooth. Her green eyes sparkled, kind and warmhearted. The man, on the other hand, stood stiff and rigid. The room suddenly seemed dark and cold when he entered the room. His eyes were strict and stern as he looked out for any petty mistakes to reprimand. He sat down at the table. His wife sat down across from him. The servants waited for their orders nervously. 

Fifteen minutes passed. The man and his wife were still sitting; both of them silent. The woman twisted her handkerchief in her lap nervously. She stole a quick glance at the clock and bit her lip. Finally, a servant timidly asked the man if he wanted the first course of the meal. The man glared at the servant. "Where is my son? Where is Gatti?" asked the man in a dangerously low and quiet voice.

The servant shook his head to gesture that he didn't know. Disgusted, the man turned his head, waving the servant away. The servant hurried to the kitchen, nearly tripping as he rushed away from the man. The man's wife gave a pitied look at the fleeing servant. She turned her gaze from the servant to her husband. Maybe she can cool his temper before her son came. She didn't want Gatti to be chastised again. "Dear, I'm sure he'll be here soon. Any minute, probably," she spoke up in a hopeful tone. "Maybe he fell asleep …" she suggested.

"And that's what's wrong with him!" the man cut in with a sharp tone. The woman, surprised and nervous at her husband's sudden loss of temper, dropped her handkerchief onto the floor. A servant hurried over to pick it up for her but she waved the servant away. She ducked under the table as she continued to listen to her husband yell. "Spends all his time sleeping or dozing off. So what if he gets good grades? He gets told off in class … nearly kicked out of school for fooling around … and … he's useless … tiresome … a constant disappointment … spending all his time in idleness … someone needs to knock some sense into that boy!" the man practically shouted, slamming a fist onto the table. His voice echoed throughout the room. "I try to give him the best, …" he continued in a quieter voice, more calm. "Sent him to the best school … has the best training … what more could he want? Is he trying to ruin me? He should be in the military - as I was, as my father was, and as everybody before him! For generations, my family has been excellent leaders of the Zaibach army, and Gatti should be no exception. It's a tradition. It's the tradition," the man insisted. His wife, after picked up her handkerchief, sat quietly, her head down and turned away from her husband. "He's shaming the family name," the man said.

The woman sighed softly. She didn't want to upset him. She took a glance towards the door. 'Gatti, my son, where are you?' she asked silently with another sigh.

*   *   *

Gatti heard the clock strike six. "Damn it. Dinner," he said to no one in particular. He was alone in his room. Gatti was sitting down on the large comfortable bed that was in one corner of his room. Pillows and blankets smothered the bed. A desk, made out of smooth polished oak, was set in the opposite corner. Pictures in exquisite gold picture frames were hung on the walls, scattered along the two walls facing Gatti as he sat on his bed. There was one picture of his father, and another of their family. Near another corner, across from Gatti, was a large, cushy chair. Next to the chair, there were three shelves full of books. But the books were hardly worth reading. '_They're so full of bullshit_,' Gatti thought. His father had given Gatti those books to read – '_It'll better that worthless mind of yours_,' his father's voice echoed in Gatti's head and Gatti gritted his teeth angrily. Anything Gatti tried to do, his father would find always find _something to criticize. It was just no use trying anymore._

*   *   *

Gatti's father tapped his fingers against the table impatiently. He looked at the clock. 6:30. "It's been thirty minutes," he declared in a quiet, husky voice. "If he's sleeping, he's gotten enough sleep. He has plenty of time to sleep at night." He turned towards the servants who were standing in a line, their backs straight, and their shirts tucked in. "Fetch Gatti. Now," he said in a curt voice. As one of the servants started to leave, he added, "You'll be dismissed from my home if you come without him."

*   *   *

Gatti lay sprawled on his bed. He picked up his pillow, carelessly throwing it across the room. "Man, I really don't want to see his face," Gatti said out loud. He grabbed another pillow off of his bed and threw it hard towards the picture of his father. The picture fell and crashed onto the floor. The glass broke, and the picture frame was chipped; however, Gatti threw yet another pillow carelessly towards his father's picture, still fuming about his father when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Gatti glared at it. "Who is it?" he asked abruptly. 

A voice answered, "Your father requests your presence at the dinner table, Gatti-sama." 

Gatti rolled his eyes at the word 'sama.' He had continually asked all the servants not to call him that, but his father had insisted on this formal name-calling. "You can come in," Gatti said. He added, "And I'm nobody's lord or master or whatever. Got that?"

The servant entered the room. "Your father demands that we call you that, Gatti-sama," The servant said as he looked up. "Or we would … get dismissed."

"And you want to stay here?" Gatti asked, raising an eyebrow, questioning the servant. "I'd do anything to get out of here. Out of Father's criticizing eyes and mouth. I would never have to hear him call …" Gatti wistfully said.

The servant quickly interrupted, "Your father pays us well."

Gatti scoffed. "So, you're in it for the money?" he asked. "You people would do anything if there was money in it for you, wouldn't you?"

The servant looked away but did not reply to Gatti's accusations. Gatti opened his mouth to ask the servant again, but the servant quickly said, "Please, your father requests your presence at dinner. Please hurry down before he loses his temper," the servant pleaded.

"Why not?" grumbled Gatti. "Every time he sees me he finds some reason - no matter how petty - to get pissed. Pissed off at me!"

The servant ignored Gatti but held the door open imploringly. "Please," he said.

Gatti sighed. With no other choice, he got up from his bed and slowly trudged out of the room. The servant, before closing the door, noticed the broken glass on the floor. "Shall I get someone to clean that up, sir?" he asked.

Gatti turned back and saw the servant gesturing towards the pile of broken glass around the picture frame. He shook his head. "No. I like it just where it is," Gatti replied with a mysterious grin. The servant, puzzled, closed the door and lead Gatti to the dining room.

*   *   *

When they arrived at the dining room, the servant knocked the door. "Enter!" a stern voice said. The servant opened the door for Gatti. After Gatti entered the room, the servant entered, and he closed the door quietly behind him, walking over to the kitchen while avoiding eye contact with Gatti or his father. He disappeared into the kitchen. 

Gatti stood in front of his father. His father tapped his fingers against the table in an annoyed fashion. "So," he said. He paused, "So …" Another pause. Gatti longed to answer, "So what?" but common sense stopped him from doing so. "Did you forget dinner was at six?" asked his father. Gatti looked down at his shoes. Gatti shook his head silently. "Answer me when I talk to you," ordered the man.

Gatti looked up, straight into the eyes of his father. "No. I didn't forget," he answered.

"Then why are you late?" his father asked. Gatti tensed up. "Answer me. Don't make me ask you twice. Why are you …"

"I didn't want any dinner," Gatti interrupted. 

His father looked at Gatti disdainfully. "Is that how you were brought up?" he asked. In a sarcastic tone, he continued, "Oh! Let everyone else wait! Why bother coming down or sending a servant down to tell my parents I'm not going to eat dinner! They can wait! They can …" There was a dangerous glint in his eye. He suddenly bellowed, "… can starve to death? Is that it?"

His mother spoke up, "It's alright, dear. It's probably …"

"No! You …" the father pointed an accusing finger at his wife as he said, "You've defended him every single time. I wanted to send him away, let him see what life is actually like but you! You've spent the whole way protecting him from it! Letting him sit in his room all day, letting him do whatever he wants. It's spoiled him! I wouldn't be surprised if you told him to just eat, drink and be merry all day! He can't survive the world the way he's been brought up. He can't, and it's all because you protected him from it." Gatti's mother turned away, keeping silent. 

"Hey, keep Mother out of this!" Gatti said, interrupting his father. '_What she went through from Father just so that I could be happy …_' Gatti thought.

His father glared at him. "Keep out of this. This is between your mother and me," he snapped.

"Yeah? Well, don't yell at her," Gatti talked back. He couldn't bear to see his Mother being yelled at like this. '_He's acting like I'm not even here! Like I'm some sort of thing of his! Some kind of trophy to bring him all that bullshit honor and everything_,' he angrily thought.

Gatti's father turned to Gatti. "So, why didn't you come down? Why didn't you send a servant down to tell us? Was it because … " he sniggered. "You're too good for your parents? Was that it?"

"No, sir. I just …" Gatti paused. "… I was just preoccupied, sir." Gatti carefully choose his words. He bit his lip as he watched his father's reaction to his words. 

"Preoccupied. Hmmm …" his father said thoughtfully. Gatti looked back at his father as his father looked at him from head to toe. "What were you doing that preoccupied you so much?" the father asked.

Gatti looked down at his father. He certainly didn't want to answer that. "May I sit?" he asked.

He ignored Gatti. "Answer my question," he demanded.

'_Billions of things_,' Gatti thought. '_All of them better than being here with you_.' He was going to say otherwise, however. "I was …" Gatti started to say.

"Actually, I don't want to hear how you waste your time all day," Gatti's father interrupted. He glanced at his wife and then looked back at Gatti. "I've decided something. And no one is going to argue against it." He shot a glance at his wife. His wife looked away. He continued, "I've heard from your teachers that you're smart. I also heard that you're one of the best Guymelef pilots of the school, also that you're an excellent swordsman." He carefully looked over Gatti. "Use that skill. You can rise to a high military position with that skill. You can prove to me you're not worthless," he said. 

Gatti thought bitterly, '_Wow, big accomplishment. I don't give a damn what he thinks anymore. I'm sick and tired of trying to impress him. Trying to live in his footsteps_.' 

Gatti, however, listened as his father continued. "I'm going to look for a reputable army with a esteemed captain that'll accept you. What you do from there is up to you." He looked at Gatti with newfound hope as he said, "Hopefully you'll bring me honor. Gatti, I have newfound hopes for you …"

Gatti shot his father a disgusted look. '_That's all I am for you, Father. A little toy to show off to your friends … to bring you your god-damn honor_.' Gatti thought.

The father continued, "In the name of the family, son, the family honor, please, don't fail me and don't embarrass me." Gatti gave a slight glare, which went by unnoticed by his father. "In the name of _Zaibach, work hard, son."_

Gatti sighed. 'No sense in getting Father all worked up again,' Gatti thought. He sighed again and then asked, "Where are you going to send me?"

His father shook his head. "I'll ask around Zaibach for more information. I have special sources and … references." He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "You're dismissed, Gatti. Go to your room."

*******************

Folken stood, staring into the blank sky. Gatti's father stood behind him. "Folken-sama, I asked to meet you here on the account of my son, Gatti," he said respectfully.

Folken did not turn to face Gatti's father. "I see," Folken coolly answered. He did not pursue the topic further, and silence filled the air around the two men.

The moment of silence seemed bring tension into the atmosphere. The usually stern and strict man that was Gatti's father was seemingly cowering under Folken's influence. "So …" Gatti's father started to say.

"So …" Folken repeated, calm and cool. 

Gatti's father looked respectfully at Folken. "Do you know of any reputable groups my son might be able to join?" he asked. "He's a great swordfighter and …" his voice faltered as Folken suddenly turned. 

Folken looked down at Gatti's father. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as he said, "I think I have just the thing."

*******************

"Did you call me, Father?" Gatti asked as he stood in the middle of his father's study. 

"Gatti, I have good news," his father answered. 

Gatti waited. '_Of course, knowing my father, good news usually means bad for me_,' he told himself. He waited all the same. 

His father looked down at a letter he was holding. "I have talked to Folken-sama. You have not heard of him, I reckon?" his father asked. Gatti shook his head. "Nevertheless, Folken-sama speaks of an arrangement that could be made for a group called the Dragonslayers."

"The what?" Gatti asked. 

"The Dragonslayers," his father repeated. "It's a relatively new group. Folken-sama, however, recommends the group and the captain highly. The Captain's name is Dilandau."

Gatti bit his lip. Interesting, yes, but ... it just wasn't for him. "What if I don't want to go?" Gatti asked.

"What do you mean?" Gatti's father asked, looking sternly at Gatti. "Of course you want to join. What else are you going to do with your life? You can't waste it. You've wasted enough of it, already - most of it at home."

Gatti shuffled his feet. "So the Dragonslayers …" Gatti started to say. 

"… are elite soldiers part of the Zaibach army. I was very lucky to talk to Folken-sama. It's a small group; mainly consisted of boys your age, I believe. Folken-sama also warns me you might not get in - the Captain is selecting only 15 boys to be Dragonslayers. Folken-sama will recommend you to the captain but it is all up the captain." Gatti still looked uncertain and answered with silence. Gatti's father sighed as he asked, "Son, will you try?" Gatti again, bit his lip. Seeing no way out of this, Gatti nodded. His father nodded his head back in approval. "Good, Gatti. Make me proud. Dismissed," his father commanded. 

Gatti stepped outside of his father's study. "Well, this is just what you wanted, isn't it, Gatti?" he asked himself. "Get away from Father … just getting away from it all."


	4. Chapter 3 Viole

Disclaimer:

I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic written by a fan for fans. So enjoy reading it! Do not steal or plagiarize my story. This is my work and it may suck, but it's still my work. If you need to do anything with my story other than read it, please email me at busyizzy801@yahoo.com and ask for permission. Thank you.

Chapter Three - Viole

CLANG!! CLANG!! The sound of metal being hammered echoed through the shop. Viole wiped off his sweat with his dirty hands. A dark smudge - from his hands - appeared on his forehead. He put down his hammer, standing up and stretching. Behind him was a green Guymelef. Viole jumped off of the shoulder of the Guymelef he was clinging to and looked enviously towards the Guymelef. 'All I can do is fix Guymelefs. I don't own one, or pilot one …' his thoughts were interrupted by a hand gently tugging on his shirt. 

Looking down, he saw a little girl - his sister. "Viole, you're working too hard." His sister said cheerfully. She lightly tossed her head back as her bangs fell into her light green eyes. Her light brown curls swept through the air as she held out a cup of water to Viole. "Here, drink." She smiled as Viole accepted the cold water. 

"Thanks." He fervently chugged down the water as another drop of sweat dropped down on his forehead. "It's very refreshing, thanks." He gave back the now-empty cup back to his sister.

His sister giggled. "Viole, look at your forehead!"

Viole touched his forehead in confusion. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

His sister took out a handkerchief. She reached out and wiped off the dirt from Viole's face. She stepped back, giggled again and then said with satisfaction, "Okay, your face is clean now." She sighed a happy and contented sigh, then looked around at the shop. "Where's Papa?"

"He went out somewhere. Don't know why." Viole answered. Sighing, he picked up the hammer again.

"For the business?" 

Viole smiled at his little sister, curiously looking around at the store. "Yeah, probably."

His sister looked around again. "We don't need any more business. As it is, Papa's already one of the best Guymelef mechanics of Zaibach. Everyone wants Papa to either make or fix their Guymelefs and …"

"True … but you know Papa." Viole remarked. He looked down at the hammer he was holding, then, suddenly dropped it. Viole looked back up at the Guymelef he was fixing. "You know, I really wish I could pilot a Guymelef. Fixing them is alright but … what I really want to do is to actually have one. A Guymelef that I could call mine. I've seen thousands of different Guymelefs, but I never have owned one myself. If I did have one, I would train all day, and win …"

His sister giggled. "Viole, you're always daydreaming about Guymelefs. Papa doesn't like it when you think like that." She carefully brushed away some dust on the floor with her feet, then sat down. "Keep working. I like to watch you when you work." She grinned at him. He grinned back.

'Well, back to work.' Viole thought. Picking up the hammer, he focused his attention back to the Guymelef. He studied the Guymelef for a minute, looking for the area that needed to be forged by the hammer. When he found the spot, he prepared to swing down at that spot when he heard a voice cut through his concentration. 

"I demand service here." Viole turned around towards the unfamiliar voice. His little sister was still sitting on the floor, her head turned towards the entrance of the shop. Viole jumped down from the Guymelef. 'Who would that be?' Viole asked himself curiously. 

When approaching the door, he found himself facing a tall man '… about the same age as himself' Viole commented. The tall man was wearing a distinguished uniform. He had piercing red eyes and grayish-silverish hair. Viole noted he was carrying a sword and wore armor. 'He's a soldier - and not just a soldier. He's an officer of some kind.' Viole could denote this because of the way the man carried himself - forward and confidently. 

The tall man noticed Viole approaching him. "You there …" he asked Viole, pointing at him. "Where's your master?"

Viole stiffened at the word 'master'. "Are you asking for my _father_?" he asked bluntly.

The man gave a piercing glare at Viole. Viole stared back at him unwaveringly. The man's hand seemed to twitch. "Very well, then. Where is your _father_?"

Viole tossed his head. "He's not here."

"Nani?" the man asked.

Viole sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" The man scowled. "He's …" Viole paused. "… not …" Viole paused again. When he opened his mouth to finish his sentence, the man cut in.

"Impudent, insolent boy." The man said abruptly. "So, then, where is the man?"

When Viole answered with silence, the man gave Viole a disdainful look. "Answer me." 

"I don't know. Meanwhile, I'm handling the business." He looked down at his feet, then, looked back up again. "I can fix all kinds of Guymelefs."

The man suddenly looked interestingly at Viole. "Do you like … fixing Guymelefs?" he asked. 

Viole bit his lip. 'It's alright.' He told himself. 'I mean, it's not that bad. Not as great as actually piloting one, though … ' He answered hesitantly with a nod. 

"Ah. Have you ever piloted one?" The man asked thoughtfully. 

Viole opened his mouth to answer, then, turned away his head in shame. 'I've beening with Guymelefs my entire life and I haven't even rode one. Pathetic …' he thought. The man was staring intensely at Viole. His cold red eyes glittered as he examined Viole. He seemed to cast a dark shadow over Viole. Viole shivered.

"No?" The man answered his own question after an awkward moment of silence. The man raised his eyebrows in disapproval but smiled a twisted smile. His eyes grew thoughtful - though they had not lost any of its coldness. 

Viole felt himself growing red. "Errr, um … well, you're kindof right …" Viole bit his lip. 'What am I doing? This is business we're talking about. Ask him what's he's here for." Viole ordered himself. "What … what do you want?"

"Hmmmm …" the man answered. He was looking Viole up and down. 

Viole started to walk away. "If you didn't want anything, why bother a working man?"

"I want you to fix my Guymelef." The man suddenly said abruptly. "Can you do it?"

Viole stammered. "Yes. I think I can."

The man looked at Viole again. "My Guymelef is outside. It's a red Alseides. I trust you to be finished with it by tomorrow morning."

Viole gaped at the man. "Tomorrow morning? You do understand that our shop has other customers and …"

"What I understand is that this shop is here to fix Guymelefs. My Guymelef needs to be fixed. You can see the logic of my words, can't you?" The man coolly interrupted. He had a dangerous glint in his eye. "You do understand, don't you?" Viole bit his lip and nodded. "Good, I don't accept incompetence." The man started walking away.

"Will you be here personally to pick up your Guymelef?" Viole asked bluntly.

The man stopped walking. "Yes."

"Who are you?" Viole asked curiously.

The man turned around. He gave Viole a smirk. "Dilandau Albatou." With that, the man walked out of the store."

Viole stared after him. "There's something strange about that guy - that Dilandau figure." Viole told himself.

"What's so strange funny?" a voice softly asked behind Viole.

Viole sighed, then turned around. It was his little sister. "I don't know. Nothing … I guess. There's just … something about that man. I don't know what yet."

*******************

"How the hell does that man handle his Guymelef?" Viole murmured to himself as he set upon the task of fixing the Guymelef. Staring at the damaged Guymelef, he sighed. "That's gonna take all night to fix." He shook his head in frustration. He'd been hoping to get a full night's sleep that night. 

"What's wrong?" a voice softly asked.

Viole yawned, turning around. It was his little sister again. He smiled warmly at her. "Just work," he paused. "… as usual."

His little sister smiled, giggling. "So, what else is new?" Then, she looked at Viole with a worrying eye. "Are you okay?" As Viole nodded, she studied his face. Pausing, she announced, "I don't believe you."

Viole smiled again. He could feel his eyes drooping with exhaustion from all the work earlier that day. "I have to work." He yawned again. He noticed his little sister eyeing him worriedly so he reassured her, "Don't worry, I'll be fine, okay?"

"Okay." Viole's little sister turned to go when she suddenly ran up to Viole, throwing her arms around him. "You should get some rest. Get some rest. I don't want you to get sick. I don't want you to fall over and die like …" she sniffed between her words. "… like Mama!"

Viole looked down at his little sister with a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

His little sister nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Viole. Can't you rest? You look so pale and thin."

Viole sharply turned away. "You sound like my mother." He said curtly. 

The girl wiped her tears away. "I can't believe you said that!" she yelled. "I just don't want to lose you like I lost Mother."

"You weren't the only one who lost her!" Viole screamed. His sister jumped back at Viole's sudden loss of temper.

"I'm …" Viole's sister looked at Viole. "I'm sorry." She managed to whisper before running off. Viole could hear her soft crying as the sound of running footsteps slowly faded out.

Viole angrily kicked at the red Alseides next to him. 'Why did I lose my temper? After all, she was only trying to help …' Frustrated, he sat down on the cold bare floor. He bit his lip as his mind wondered off, 'Mama … mama, I miss you. Come back, mama!' Viole stared blankly at the ceiling. "Mama …" he whispered. "Come back."

A sudden clang woke Viole from his thoughts. It was his sister. His sister had dropped a hammer on the floor accidentally. When she saw Viole awake, she forced a smile. Then, she saw Viole staring at her dirtied hands and at the hammer lying on the floor. A wide sheepish smile spread across her face. 

"I'm …" she whispered. "I'm sorry for waking you up." She struggled to pick up the heavy hammer lying on the floor.

Viole raced over to help his sister. "It's alright." When his eyes met hers, they smiled. "Whatever were you thinking of?" asked Viole, gesturing to the hammer in his hands.

His sister bit her lip. "Well, you were tired and grouchy about having to do work. When I came back a while ago, you were sleeping. I thought you should get some sleep so I let you sleep. But, I didn't want you flustered over your work so I thought I should do some of it for you."

Viole looked sternly at his sister. "This is dangerous, do you know that?" His sister looked down at the floor. Viole sighed. "Well, since you already started, want to help me finish fixing this Guymelef?"

The girl stared at Viole. She opened her mouth to talk but no words came out. A smile broke across her face as she happily nodded, too happy for words.

"Okay, well, I'll do the hard part and you can help me with the little parts, okay?" Viole didn't wait for his sister to answer. He walked briskly to the red Alseides. "First order of business. This is supposed to be finished by tomorrow morning. Now, you stand over there and …" Viole instructed his sister. He shouted instructions to her over the loud clanging of the hammer as he busily worked to finish fixing the red Alseides belonging to the man called Dilandau Albatou.

I wrote this 2 years ago. But I never bothered putting it up cuz I hoped to get in some more edits and whatnot. Well, THAT idea failed. Soooo, just putting it up for the hell of it. So I can continue with Miguel cuz I started with it 2 years ago and never finished. Note, I didn't even read this chapter through. Nope, cuz if I did, I'd be tempted to fix up some stuff and … I won't ever put this up then. @_@

Sorry for the delay. *sweatdrop* ^^;; I luv ya all? ^^;;;


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